


Secret Santa Blues

by starlightandpinot



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: 12daysofBOM, Drinking, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Secret Santa, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28112547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightandpinot/pseuds/starlightandpinot
Summary: Arnold blinks. “You—you got him a gift card to the chicken place?”“Yup.”“I spent hours of my life trying to figure out a way to rig the Secret Santa so that you’d get each other andthat’swhat you get him? The gift of undercooked chicken and stale beer?”“That’s right.”Or: Kevin is the world's biggest dumbass and I never get tired of writing it.
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: 12 Days of Book of Mormon (2020)





	Secret Santa Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wrote this last year for Christmas but never posted it to AO3. I found it the other day and realized it fits the Day 3 prompt so I thought why not post it now.
> 
>  **Day 3 Prompt:** Write about the boys' first Christmas in Uganda.
> 
> Also just a note that this fic is definitely not my "headcanon" of their actual first Christmas in Uganda. I've always imagined that they throw a big party for the village and celebrate the Ugandan traditions. This fic was just a silly idea I came up with last year.

Christmas in Uganda just isn’t the same as it used to be back home. It’s hot and dry and Kevin is pretty sure the Christmas sweater Arnold made for him has begun to melt into his skin. He’s sweating. There isn’t any snow. They don’t have a tree. All they have is makeshift egg nog spiked with Ugandan gin, homemade Christmas attire, and one measly string of twinkle lights.

But at least he has a cold drink in his hand and a good view of the other side of the hut, where Elder McKinley is standing on a ladder, attempting to hang a string of multi-colored lights around the window. The back of his red and green Christmas shirt hikes up just a little as he strains to catch the wire onto the curtain hook, revealing the small of his back. Kevin knows it isn’t polite to stare, and he certainly admires Elder McKinley for more than just his skin—his really, _really_ soft skin—but he just can’t help it: he’s transfixed by the sight. So transfixed that he jumps a little when his best friend claps him on the back.

“Hey, buddy,” Arnold says in a quieter voice than usual. “So, what did you end up getting for Elder McKinley?”

Kevin isn’t quite sure he heard that right. “What?”

“For the Secret Santa,” his best friend whispers, presumably so that the other Elders wouldn’t hear them. “What’d you end up getting him?”

“How do _you_ know who I got for the Secret Santa?” Kevin narrows his eyes, barely suppressing a smirk. “It’s supposed to be a _secret_ , remember?”

“Uhhhh… I don’t know.” Arnold shrugs, but his lies are always ridiculously transparent. He scratches at his head. “Lucky guess?”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

“Anyway, what’d you end up getting him?” The question comes out more like a squeal and the smile on Arnold's face is big and loving and genuine. It always is, making it nearly impossible for Kevin to ever _really_ be annoyed with him. “I heard you were at the market for _hours_ the other day.” He winks and elbows Kevin in the side. “So, it must be something _good_.”

Kevin looks down with a shrug, giving the glass of spiked egg nog in his hand a little stir. He doesn’t usually drink—they’ve only recently relaxed the rules enough to do so and he still feels a hefty amount of religious guilt—but if he’s going to go through with what he’s planning on going through with later on that evening, he’s going to need a little liquid courage. (Okay, maybe a _lot_ of liquid courage).

“I got him a gift card,” Kevin says, glancing up just in time to see his best friend’s face fall.

“A—a gift card?” Arnold wrinkles his nose. “ _That’s_ what you got him?” Kevin nods and takes another sip from his drink. “You spent the entire day at the market and all you got him was a lousy _gift card_?”

“Yup.”

“There isn’t even anywhere to shop around here, Kev—what’d you get him a gift card _for_?”

“That,” Kevin grins, and gives his best friend a bop on the nose, “is private information.”

“Private?” Arnold looks confused for a moment, but it doesn’t take long for his eyes to start lighting up with _ideas_. “Ooooh, I bet you made him one of those romantic coupon thingies, right? Like for a free back massage or an hour long foot rub or a night of—”

“No.” Kevin holds up a hand to stop him. Whatever his best friend was about to say, Kevin knows he doesn’t want to hear it. “We aren’t even _dating_ , yet, Arnold.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , it’s a little early for me to be giving him free _massage_ coupons, don’t you think?”

“Then what _is_ it?” Arnold begs, but Kevin knows he has to hold his ground. He’s already nervous enough as it is, about what he’s planning to do. The last thing he needs is for his best friend to start blabbing it around to everyone else at the party—or _worse,_ loudly cheering him on from the other side of the room.

“Come _on_.” Arnold gives Kevin’s shoulder a gentle shake. “You owe me one, buddy. I rigged the Secret Santa for you so that you’d get each other and now you won’t even tell me what you _got_ him? It isn’t fair and you know it.”

“Ha!” Kevin shoves a triumphant finger in his face. “I _knew_ you rigged it.” Arnold rolls his eyes. “And if you must know… the gift card I got him is for Elder Ghali’s House of Chicken, but that’s all I’m telling you.”

Arnold blinks. “You—you got him a gift card to the _chicken_ place?”

“Yup.”

“I spent hours of my life trying to figure out a way to rig the Secret Santa so that you’d get each other and _that’s_ what you get him? The gift of undercooked chicken and stale beer?”

“That’s right.”

Kevin takes another sip of his egg nog, trying to hide the smirk on his face. He doesn’t tell Arnold that it isn’t even a real gift card, that he actually had Elder Ghali make him one out of a piece of cardboard and a marker. He was going for _symbolism_ here, the actual details of the card weren’t all that important. 

Arnold sighs. “This was _so_ not worth writing out twelve pieces of paper with Elder McKinley’s name on it and giving you a separate jar to pick from that looks exactly like the real one.”

“Trust me, buddy.” Kevin wraps an arm around his best friend and leads him back out into the party. “It’s not _just_ a gift card.”

“It’s not?”

“Nope.”

“Then what is it?”

“You’ll see.” Kevin grins, downing the rest of his egg nog in one shot as they walk out into the living room.

* * *

“I got you, Elder Price,” Elder McKinley says about an hour later, gently pushing his gift across the floor and into Kevin’s waiting hands. He looks expectant and nervous as he watches Kevin unfurl the blue ribbon holding the box together. “It isn’t much,” he adds, as though he’s worried Kevin might think so, too. “Considering the circumstances. But I hope you like it.”

“ _Like it_ is an understatement,” Kevin says as he lifts the gift from the box. It’s a ceramic figurine of Simba and Nala from _The Lion King_ and it’s downright _beautiful_.

So beautiful that he spends a few moments simply turning it over in his hands, admiring the bright colors and how smooth it feels against his skin. He can tell that Elder McKinley made it himself, as he always marks his handiwork with a little _CM_ at the bottom, accented by the tiniest heart below his initials.

It’s perfect, Kevin thinks. It’s meaningful and thoughtful and perfect and a thousand other things that he doesn’t even know how to properly convey to the boy sitting across from him. It also makes Kevin’s gift card idea suddenly seem far too stupid. The item in his hands is better than any gift idea he could have possibly come up with. And it probably didn’t even end up costing him all that much, considering that clay is one of the few commodities they actually have in abundance.

Their resources are limited here, in Uganda, and even more so since leaving the Church. They don’t have enough money. They don’t have enough food. They don’t have enough of anything, really. That sort of poverty makes it quite difficult to find a gift that is both nice and affordable, but leave it to Elder McKinley to get clever with his. Not to mention crafty.

“It’s amazing,” Kevin says, tearing his eyes away from the figurine so he could look up and meet Elder McKinley’s eyes. They look positively giddy at Kevin’s reaction, if the happy glint sparkling over the bright blue is any indication. “Really, Connor, this is incredible. Thank you.”

He doesn’t usually call Elder McKinley by his first name in front of the others, as they’ve been trying to maintain _some_ semblance of protocol, but he feels the thoughtfulness of the gift warrants the use of his given name.

“That means you’re up next, Elder Price,” Michaels says, nodding in his direction. “Last one.”

Kevin feels his cheeks flush as he looks down at the envelope in his lap. Not only does he think the idea is a lot _dumber_ , now, than he’d originally given himself credit for, but he isn’t exactly sure he _wants_ to ask Connor McKinley out on a date in front of the entire group of Elders. What was he even _thinking_ with this idea?

He’s not certain he had been thinking at all. Of _course_ he’d have to give Connor the gift in front of the group. That’s how a Secret Santa _works_. Everyone’s gifts get revealed at the same time.

But whenever Kevin had imagined the big moment in his mind, as he had quite often over the past several weeks, he and Connor were always alone, usually sitting close together in a quiet corner of the living room, next to a roaring fireplace. They don’t actually _have_ a fireplace in the hut, but in his daydreams they do. They’d sit on the floor together, Kevin silently admiring the way the glow of the flames flickered across Connor’s cheeks. They’d flirt with each other for a while, perhaps even pick on each other in that way they do sometimes, playfully bumping each other’s shoulders and exchanging shy, but knowing, smiles. Nervous trepidation would swell in Kevin’s stomach until he finally gathered up enough nerve to hand him the envelope.

He’d watch on expectantly as Connor opened the gift, letting his fingers get tangled in the hairs on the back of his neck. Connor wouldn’t pull away from the unexpected touch. In fact, he would sort of lean into it a little. The gift would confuse Connor, at first. He’d ask Kevin what it means, why he would give him a piece of cardboard with the words _$5 credit at Elder Ghali’s House of Chicken_ written across the front in black Sharpie.

Kevin wouldn’t answer with words, though. He would answer by leaning in and placing a gentle kiss to Connor’s lips. It would be Kevin’s first, and probably Connor’s, too. The boy in his arms would be startled by the gesture, but then he’d quickly melt into it as though they’d done this a thousand times before. Upon parting, Kevin would softly explain to him that he’s been wanting to ask him out for months, but that he just didn’t know how to do it.

“That’s what the gift card is for,” imaginary Kevin would explain to imaginary Connor with a shy smile. “So that I can take you out to dinner, just the two of us.”

“Are you asking me out on a _date_ , Kevin Price?” Connor would ask, coyly playing with the buttons on Kevin’s white dress shirt. “Because, if you are, I’d have to say that the answer is wholeheartedly, unequivocally _yes_.”

Kevin knows that the _real_ Connor would never say that—not in those exact words—but that’s how he’s been imagining it all these weeks, nonetheless. Their lips would fall together again without any effort required. It would taste like hot cocoa and mint and pumpkin pie all mixed up into one, even though none of them have so much as _seen_ a pumpkin pie in almost a year. Connor would deepen the kiss, gently parting Kevin’s lips with his tongue. Minutes, hours, days would go by like this until their lips were tired and sore and their muscles kind of ached, and then Connor would—

“Elder Price?” Michaels asks, abruptly yanking Kevin from his thoughts. “Yoo-hoo, Earth to Price. It’s your turn.”

“Right.” Kevin clears his throat and reluctantly pushes the envelope across the floor.

It takes Connor a minute to process what the gift actually is, as it had gotten a little beaten up in transport. Some of the edges are frayed and a few of the words had gotten kind of smudged out, but Connor is Connor and so he just looks up and gives Kevin his best—albeit, confused—smile.

“Thanks, Kev. This is really… great.”

Kevin knows that Connor is lying and it makes him feel even more mortified than he thought he would. He opens his mouth to explain himself, to explain why on Earth he’d gotten Connor such a weird gift, but nothing comes out. Nothing about the growing affection he’s been feeling towards him over the past year, nothing about wanting to take him out to dinner, nothing about a _date_.

The heat in the room feels unbearably stifling and when Kevin glances around at the other Elders, it feels as though all of their eyes are on him, waiting for him to explain himself.

But a sad, pathetic “I’m glad you like it” is all Kevin can muster out, diverting his eyes from Connor’s as quickly as humanly possible.

Some of the Elders give Kevin a strange look, despite the fact that their gifts weren’t that much better. Neeley had given his recipient a notebook and Michaels gave his a set of ballpoint pens. Arnold got socks and Schrader got a tie. And it isn’t even a fun tie, either. It’s an incredibly _boring_ tie. Kevin’s gift is interesting, at least, and it just so happens to come equipped with the greatest gift of them all: a date with Kevin Price himself.

Only Connor doesn’t know that. Connor thinks it’s just an ordinary gift card; a cheap one, at that, and for a crappy chicken joint no less. He doesn’t know it’s actually Kevin’s overly-convoluted way of asking him out on a date.

But Kevin will tell him, eventually. He has to. He just needs another glass of egg nog in him, that’s all. Maybe two. He nods to himself. Yeah, two will definitely do the trick. He’ll be _way_ more suave and sure of himself after two.

* * *

Two hours and three egg nogs later and Kevin Price is feeling just _fine_. So fine that he decides to saunter up to Connor McKinley after hours of staring at him and finally ask him what he’s been meaning to ask him all evening.

“Hey, you,” Kevin slurs before stumbling and accidentally falling down to the floor next to Connor. His head smacks into something hard and unpleasant on the way down and it _hurts_. “Ow."

“Are you okay?” Connor worriedly pushes back the flop of Kevin’s hair so that he can get a better look at him. “You hit your head pretty hard there.”

“I’m fine.” Kevin waves him off, but he knows he isn’t. He can hear the way his voice is slurring and he’s pretty sure he’s only supposed to be seeing one Connor McKinley instead of three. No longer having any semblance of inhibition at this point, though, he just leans back against the wall and stares dopily into Connor’s eyes. The alcohol is enough to numb the pain he feels in the back of his skull and the boy his eyes are currently drinking up is very, _very_ pretty.

“You’re so pretty,” he blurts out, because he’s too drunk to filter himself properly.

Connor laughs, and even through the haze of alcohol, Kevin notices the way his cheeks turn to apples. He likes making Connor blush. It sends a little _thrill_ down his spine.

“I mean it,” Kevin says, more seriously this time. He reaches out and strokes the hair atop Connor’s head. “You are so, _so_ pretty. But not just on the outside.” He hiccups and points to Connor’s chest. “On the inside, too. You’re pretty inside and out.”

Connor latches onto Kevin’s hand and gently brings it down from his chest. “And _you_ are very drunk.”

“Yes.” He nods, because he can’t fault Connor’s logic. “I may be drunk right now, but you wanna know a secret?” He leans into Connor’s ear and lowers his voice to a near-whisper. “I think you’re pretty even when I’m _not_ drunk.”

Connor raises an eyebrow, looking both surprised and amused.

“That’s why I gave you that gift card tonight. I thought we could… I don’t know.” He waves a hand at Connor, suddenly having second thoughts. “Forget it.” He shakes his head and moves away a little, letting the back of his head smack back against the wall. “It’s stupid.” He goes to take another sip of egg nog, but Connor’s reflexes are faster than Kevin’s and he snatches it from him before it can reach his lips.

“Hey.” Kevin scowls and makes a pitiful attempt to grab it back. “That’s _mine_.”

“Not anymore, it isn’t. I’m cutting you off,” Connor says, and takes the remainder of Kevin’s nog for himself. Kevin wants to be angry, because his drink-addled brain is yelling at him that he should be ingesting more liquor to stay in this new and strange state he’s found himself in, but he has a hard time getting mad at Connor on a normal day, let alone when he’s sitting there, looking all adorable in his handmade Christmas tree shirt and reindeer antlers.

“I love you,” Kevin blurts out before he can stop himself. 

Connor chokes violently on his egg nog. “ _What_?”

“No, I mean.” Kevin closes his eyes and hiccups again. He shakes his head, realizing how stupid that must have sounded. “No, no, I don’t mean I _love_ you love you. I mean I _could_ love you. We could… we can… I know I’ll love you one day.”

“Kevin—”

“I think we should date, or something,” Kevin says. He waits for an answer, hoping for a resounding _yes,_ but Connor moves to stand up, instead. Kevin thinks he’s probably going to leave him there on the floor, drunk and alone, looking like a fool who’s just spilled his heart out to the boy he’s been too afraid to ask out for the past eight months. But all he does is bend down and pull Kevin up by the hands, wrapping one arm around his waist to steady him so that he doesn’t fall down again. He walks Kevin over to the room he shares with Arnold, gently laying him down on the bed, and tucks him under the covers. 

“You must think I’m an idiot,” Kevin mutters when Connor brings a bottle of water to his lips and makes him take a sip.

“No.” Connor sits next to him on the bed and places a hand on his chest. “I don’t think you’re an idiot.” He gives him a gentle pat. “I _do_ think you went a little too hard on the egg nog.” Connor gives him a smirk. “What is this, your third time drinking?”

“Something like that,” Kevin mumbles, curling himself into a ball and gazing up at Connor. He thinks on it for a moment. “I actually think it’s my second time.”

Connor lets out a small laugh at Kevin’s expense and they spend the next few moments in a comfortable silence, Connor’s hand resting on Kevin’s chest, rubbing slow circles into his sweater. Kevin isn’t sure how it happens—not exactly—but pretty soon his fingers are playing with the fringe of Connor’s hair. It’s soft and smooth and auburn and pretty. He expects Connor to stop him, but he doesn’t.

“I’m so sorry,” Kevin sighs. “This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.”

“Oh?” Connor’s eyes look rather amused, as if they know something that Kevin doesn’t. “How was it supposed to go?”

“I don’t know.” Kevin shrugs and turns away from Connor’s gaze. He soon feels a slender finger sliding underneath his chin, lifting it back up. Their eyes meet and Kevin suddenly feels very, _very_ sober.

“I was going to ask you out tonight,” Kevin admits in a moment of weakness, not liking the way his chest is starting to constrict and his voice has begun to waver. “That’s what the gift card was for. You were supposed to look all confused at first, but then I’d say something smooth like ‘Oh, I thought maybe we could go out together, just you and me’ and then you’d smile and ask me if I mean like a date, and then I would roll my eyes and say ‘of course I mean like a date’ and then we would… kiss, or something.” He swallows hard, diverting his eyes from Connor’s once again. “Preferably underneath that mistletoe Arnold hung up for us.” His chest feels as though it might explode at any moment, and he has to pause to try and take in a breath. “This was all Arnold’s idea, you know. The Secret Santa part, not the gift card thing. He rigged it so we’d get each other.”

Connor lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, I figured.”

Kevin’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah. When I pulled your name out of the jar, I had a funny feeling it was either Arnold or Chris’s doing.” Connor's gaze drifts from Kevin’s eyes, down to his chest, where he has taken to playing with a paper snowflake on Kevin’s sweater. It has been threatening to fall off all evening, but somehow is still hanging on. “I’m just glad I finally had an excuse to give you that Lion King figurine, that’s all. I made it over three months ago, you know.”

“You did?”

Connor nods, his eyes still transfixed on the paper snowflake dangling from Kevin's sweater. “I’ve liked you for quite a long time, Kevin Price. I was starting to think you’d never figure it out.”

“You have?” Kevin feels a spike of adrenaline surge through his body. He wasn't expecting that. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I guess I wanted you to say it first,” Connor shrugs, his eyes still trained on the paper snowflake on Kevin’s sweater. “I don’t exactly have the greatest self-esteem, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know that.” Kevin shakes his head. "You always seem so confident. I had no idea.”

“Well, now you know.” Connor looks up and gives Kevin a weak smile.

They spend a few minutes like that, in a peaceful silence, the distant chattering of their friends a comforting white noise on the other side of the too-thin walls. Their hands are intertwined, now, moonlight pouring through the window, casting a blue and silver light over the bed. It’s quiet, but not uncomfortable.

Connor breaks the silence first, accompanied by a light squeeze of Kevin’s hand. “You know, in my family, we always leave the Christmas decorations up until the day after New Year’s.”

Kevin’s lips tug upward at that. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Connor nods and leans in closer, so that their lips are almost touching. “Which means we still have _plenty_ of time to use that mistletoe. Seven whole days, if my math serves me correctly.”

“Seven days,” Kevin breathes. “That’s a long time.”

He can feel his smile widen and he isn’t sure if it’s the egg nog still swirling around his brain making him act bolder and stupider than usual, but he ventures upward, circling a hand around the back of Connor’s neck. He goes to pull him down into a kiss, but the other boy somehow manages to beat him to it.

The kiss doesn’t taste like mint or hot cocoa or pumpkin pie or anything else Kevin had expected it to taste like. But it does taste sweet. He isn’t sure how it tastes so sweet when he can’t even identify the flavor, but it’s definitely sweet and electric and important and _good_ , sending a warm tingle from the edge of his lips all the way down to the pit of his stomach.

“Merry Christmas, Kevin,” Connor whispers as they part.

Kevin presses his forehead into Connor’s and smiles. “Merry Christmas, indeed.”


End file.
